The Devil's walking stick is crowned in green
And growing in the woods---its thorns, tipped red,
Await their master's hand whose grasp, obscene
In every movement, prickles skin to dread.
An adversary to all touch, the stick
Resembles its dread master, adversary
To beauty, virtue, and the good, his trick
Is making you think he's these, unwary.
The shadows moving in the woods bring death---
The stream brings life and flows and darting fish
Beneath the surface---careful, catch your breath---
And careful that you don't get all you wish.
Go step into the forest's shading stream
Where you will find a land of dappled dream.
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